Hell Hath No Fury
by cascade-of-black-ink
Summary: Anne Grey didn't want to be like her sister, Jean. She didn't want to be an outcast, a misfit, a MUTANT. But fate decided otherwise. Previously titled Consumed in Flames.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note**: This is not exactly my first venture into X-Men territory, but this is certainly a first as a solo flyer. I wrote this fic mainly because I was quite unsettled by the new movie . . . anyway, this X-Men universe is the one that the movie introduced; but the dialogues will be modified to suit the story; and no, nobody is dead here. Yet. Difference of facts is completely at my liberty.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the X-Men or whatever that has somehow popped up in either Marvel or the movies.

PART 1: THE CHILD

Chapter 1

The bedroom wall shook suddenly and the pictures that were hanging on it fell off their hooks and smashed onto the floor. Anne Grey jolted awake and sat up immediately. The whole bedroom was shaking. She went to the window. The neighbourhood was peaceful. No screams, no people running out. So it isn't an earthquake. Which could only mean . . .

"JEAN!" came her mother's cry. Footsteps scurried past her bedroom door and Anne swallowed. She rushed to her door and opened it just in time to see her parents dash into her elder sister's room. Out of pure curiosity, she tiptoed after them, narrowly avoiding the remains of a table lamp.

She held onto the doorframe and peered into the room. Jean was in her mother's arms, being rocked and cradled to tranquility as her father watched on and said words of comfort. Slowly, the shaking ceased until everything went still. Anne sighed in relief. This wasn't the first time such an incident had happened. It had occurred yesterday night, and the night before and the night before that for as long as she could remember. At first, Anne was properly terrified, but now she had almost gotten . . . used to it.

Certain now that everything was all right, Anne returned to her room and lay silently on the bed. Sleep wouldn't come just yet. Her gaze fell on the clock on the wall opposite her bed. Suddenly, its needles spun with alarming speed. Anne frowned; _how did it do that?_ But just then her eyelids felt heavy and she gave in to Slumberland.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Grey," came a kind, deep voice from the hallway. Anne, who was sitting on the top stair, sat up straighter a bit to see the visitors as much as she could without giving herself away. She caught a glimpse of a bald man in a wheelchair, escorted by a tall and very stern-looking man who wore a black felt cap. The man in the wheelchair wore a grey suit that looked like something out of her father's wardrobe but the stern man wore a heavy, black duster with a grey woolen scarf around his neck.

"Hello, Professor Xavier. It's so good to meet you at last," replied her father who shook hands with the man in the wheelchair.

"Never a problem, Mr. Grey. This is my good friend, Eric Lehnsherr. I hope you don't mind him joining me today in this little meeting."

"Oh no," said her mother, "not at all. Please have a seat, Mr. Lehnsherr, and, er, you too, Professor. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Tea, if you please," replied the Professor.

"Make it an Earl Grey for me," added his companion in a very husky and authoritative voice. Her mother nodded and scuttled into the kitchen while her father took a seat on the sofa opposite the guests.

'_Are they here?'_ Jean's voice boomed in her head and Anne jumped a little bit. She frowned at her sister as she plopped down on the step beside her. "I told you not to do that."

"Why? Do you hate it?" replied Jean smugly.

"I'm not the only one; Mom and Dad hate it too."

The smirk left Jean's pretty face and was replaced by a look of boredom. She drew her knees to her chin and sighed. Anne never understood why Jean was so pretty but she herself wasn't. Didn't they come from the same mother and father? Then why did Jean have such long and wavy red hair while Anne had only plain brown hair? Why was Jean able to read people's minds and move things with her mind while Anne couldn't?

Why? Why? Why?

"Nobody knows why," said Jean loudly, "Keep your thoughts to yourself, will you? You're psychically annoying." Anne tried to find a suitable retort, but just then her mother's voice wafted into the hallway.

"Jean? Will you come down from a moment please?"

Jean stood, smoothened her blue skirt and descended the stairs like a lady. Anne watched her go, mesmerized by her gracefulness and sighed. _When I turn eleven, _she thought dreamily, _I want to be just as pretty as Jean._ She sat one step lower so that she could hear what was going to happen.

Jean took the seat on the sofa that her parents had vacated, preferring to stay in the kitchen and let the Professor handle her. For a few minutes, they just sat there staring intently at each other. Anne frowned and strained her ear to hear something; anything that they might be whispering about.

She heard faintly the wisps of their voices: '_Jean, do you know what you are?'_

_'I – I'm Jean Grey.'_

_'Yes, you are. But most importantly, you must be aware that you are more than just Jean Grey; you are a mutant.'_

Jean's eyes widened. "A – a what?"

"A mutant," said the Professor again, as if confirming for both Jean and Anne that they had both heard the same thing. _Mutant?_ thought Anne with a sudden seize of fear. _Those horrible people that Mom and Dad talked about? But Jean – Jean isn't! She's never been bad before! Mutant? Mutant? Aren't they supposed to be evil? _

Abruptly, the head of the Professor's companion, Mr. Lehnsherr, turned to exactly her direction. She gasped and quickly dashed for her room; not caring if she had caused a commotion in the process. She locked herself in the room and cried herself to exhaustion.

* * *

The mansion was simply beautiful; even more beautiful than the pictures in the brochure that had been given to her parents. Anne adjusted the silk gloves on her hands and tried to pay attention to what her parents were lecturing Jean about. But the size of the foyer was astounding; the compound was already colossal and Anne had never quite seen such a romantic grandeur existing right in the heart of Westchester County.

The Professor sat patiently in his wheelchair for Jean. Behind him stood a white-haired teenager that astonished Anne most properly at first sight. She had white hair, but she wasn't old! How strange! She had smooth olive skin and a rather proud look.

As Anne was standing a little way off from the small gathering, nobody noticed her much. She didn't mind; she didn't like too much attention anyway. What was there to be observed about in a simple eight-year-old like her? Nothing much. Anyhow, Jean was the focus here; Jean was going away from home to learn with the Professor. Anne knew that she would be just fine, but somehow . . . she had a nagging feeling that nothing would be the same anymore. With Jean gone, who was going to play the piano after dinner? Anne knew how to play, of course, but Jean was the cleverer one. Jean always managed to capture their hearts, because she played smoothly and flawlessly; while she, Anne, was the butterfingers, the clumsy 'Miss Magoo' who always tripped up on the keys. Anne had never really taken her parents' comments into heart, but every now and then, she, like Jean, would like some praises of her own as well.

_It would feel nice to be admired_, thought Anne with a small smile. Her mother tapped her shoulder smartly and told her to say goodbye to her sister. The sisters shook hands and Anne said, with as much good humour as she can muster: "Goodbye and good luck, Jean."

Jean smiled and said, "You too."

Those words were the last of Jean's that Anne had heard in good spirits. It was a pity that resentment was to fuel and simmer in Anne's docile soul over the years to come.

* * *

As always, reviews much welcome! 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took such a long time to update either! Anyhow, I just want to say that I was stupid for not noticing that Jean did have another sister all along whose name is Sara. However, since this is FanFiction territory I suppose you can all forgive me for being so ignorant and assume that I've taken liberties with the story? Thanks wahoo!

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone who's emerged from the Marvel Universe.

Chapter 2

Her head was aching terribly; as if a giant hand was squeezing it until the juices in her brain flowed out. Anne squeezed her eyes shut and willed the pain to go away. It lessened, for a while, and then, just a smile was about to form on her face, it returned; with a vengeance. A moan escaped her lips and she tightened her grip on her pencil, as if doing it could somehow transfer her pain onto it.

Her moan caught the attention of her math teacher. Miss Foster quickly set her books down and hurried over to her table. _Oh God, if anything freakin' happens to these kids I'm as good as dead!_ Anne's head snapped up, alert, but she was very sure that her teacher's lips had not moved. She was about to ponder about it when Miss Foster gave her an assuring smile and asked gently, "Are you all right, Anne?"

But at the same time . . . _She'd better be okay! I just had to clean up Darren's hideous puke and not this now! Please God! Not this now!_

Anne willed her lips to move, but in the end, she shook her head slowly.

Miss Foster's face relaxed visibly, but the smile was retained. "Are you sure?"

_Come on, girl! You're fine! You're thumpin', freakin' fine!_

This was getting too weird for the little girl. _No!_ Anne thought furiously, _I can't be crazy. I can't – I can't! I'm not Jean. I'm not! I'M NOT CRAZY!_

But then it suddenly made perfect sense. Miss Foster had never used that sort of language . . . at least not in class. Anne knew her, remembered her, for being very polite. She finally concluded that she must have heard her _thoughts_. She bit her lip and a tear threatened to slip away from her eyes, but she held it back.

Miss Foster approached her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There, there, Anne . . . everything will be all right. Is there a question that you don't know? You should have known better didn't you: to study yesterday night?"

Anne struggled to form words with her lips; she wanted desperately for her teacher to go away… for her thoughts were deafening, exploding in her ears, filling her with a sense of fear that felt much older; way beyond her in fact; a new sensation but she hated it. The more her mind rejected it, the more it came back. And yet, she couldn't give in to those thoughts… somehow she knew that if she relented, lost her self-control, the woman would know, know that she was – was one of _them_.

Like Jean.

She didn't want to be like Jean. She didn't want to be hated, like Jean. Everyone in school had feared her; the teachers avoided talking about her; the other girls abandoned her during lunch; and the boys _talked_. And Miss Foster should know, she had taught her sister the same year Jean had become one of _them_.

"Anne, do you want to go home?"

_Come on, girl! You wanna pee I take you to pee; you don't wanna sit for this test then fine! Don't force yourself!_

But if she chose to go home . . . Mom and Dad would know, Miss Foster would call them, and they would interrogate her and tried to persuade her with sweets and lemonade to get her to tell the truth and then Anne, never having able to ever resist any of those temptations, will finally say _yes, I heard things . . . in my head, all over the place, it's given me a headache, oh Mom, Dad: I'm them._

Anne sniffed and shook her head. It was barely a shake: her head felt so heavy and tired. Miss Foster, happily oblivious to the pain that Anne was trying to fight, smiled and patted her shoulder again. "That's my girl."

Her eyes could barely make out Miss Foster's retreating shape. They were blurred with hot tears as suddenly, a ton of bricks pounded onto her head. Anne bit her lip, trying not to cry out loud. It hit again – and again – and again – until Anne felt quite sure that her skull was quite numb and her nose had blocked up. The last time it hit – it shattered into a tiny million pieces of crumbs.

And all at once, voices – voices of her classmates began flooding into her brain; _What was Miss Foster doing so long with that Grey girl? – Argh! I can't remember! What is 9x8? I just memorised it yesterday night! – Just a little bit more and I can see Davey's answer – I wonder what's for lunch?_ – Anne clapped her hands over her ears; stop the noise! Stop it! _– I wanna play Frisbee with Rowland when he comes home, gosh it'll be plenty fun! – Uuuuh I'm starving – WHAT IS 9X8? _Without her realizing it, the window pane was rattling; shaking and trembling with an increasing crescendo and frightening the children in the classroom_ – I wanna go home! – MOMMMY! – What's going on? – EARTHQUAKE! AAAAAAAA – _

_CALM DOWN! _her thoughts bellowed at her . . . and strangely, although the shaking stopped and the tables stopped crawling forward on their own accord, the class _did_ calm down. In fact, they were acting as if nothing had ever happened.


End file.
